The Storm

The trees are washed this morning, left over rain drops twinkling in the rising sun. Our first hint of the coming storm yesterday was just before dusk, when the blue skies and scattered white clouds gave way to the swirling of cove fog as the two fronts - a high atmosphere low and a low atmosphere low - conspired to move together to push away our warmth and moved the cove to an ever changing landscape of mist, dense fog and sun: appearing, disappearing, an instant metamorphosis from one state, from one view, to another, familiar and similar to what had been before and yet completely different and new, too. Low patches of fog that would shimmer then a mistly veil then a grey curtain followed by a clear sunny moment that then converted to yet another lovely state. The images darkened as night gathered and we were left with the white light from our compact fluorescents brightening to the windows and an ebony velvet blacknesss just beyond: impenetrable and still. After a bit, we began to see (but not hear) the lightning. A brilliant flash would rend the black at a single point that would then illumine the horizon ever so briefly and before it lowered again to ebon, all happening more quickly than could be measured easily: impressions of light rather than illumination. These fleeting flashes made us wonder if we had actually seen the light, or imagined it. The repetition of the flashes helped us to know that the light was real, not pretend. The storm approached slowly, and before long we could hear it as well as see it. We heard not the crack of a nearby strike as we would at the House on the Creek, nor a low rumble of a far storm but rather a symphony, a cacophony of sounds. Cracks, rumbles, mumbles and gravel tones spread out and unmuffled: crisp, deep, resonate and wonderous. The temperature drops and we seek long sleeves, pants and socks. And the smells: the clean smell of ozone mixed with sea air with a strong kelp component. The skies unleashed their fury - rain drops pelting trees, falling to berry bushes and ferns, thrashing the ground, fighting to fill the waters of the cove; wind tossing and turning all in its path. Windows were quickly shut to keep the outside apart. The door to the screen porch was opened wide to allow the tempest to be close. Electric power briefly lost. It was late and we headed to bed. The new day dawned bright and clean and bracing. What an amazing and awesome experience. We are so lucky to have been a part of it. My thanks to Papa Bear for the drops on the tree picture.